His Formal Insanity
by Feltbeat
Summary: Robert Neville is one of the rare survivors of a plague that turns humans into the living dead. But little does he know that among all the madness, something will change his life even more...forever. Horrifying suspence has never looked this good. R&R.
1. Just Another Day

**I'm trying out something completely new here. I don't know why, but all of a sudden I felt like writing an **I Am Legend** fanfic. This decision came to me rather randomly, so you'll have to forgive my lack of plot and such. I was pretty much writing down random ideas that came to my head, and when I pieced them together, this came out. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own **I Am Legend**. The characters and setting all belong to Richard Matheson. I do however, own the plot.**

**Robert Neville POV**

Christmas didn't have meaning anymore.

He tried hard not to remember what the sacred holiday used to be like, and this wasn't a hard thing to accomplish. The memory seemed so distant, that he was sure that even if he willingly tried to access it, he would come across nothing more than a faint blur. So long ago these things happened, he found that his brain started to slowly but surely eliminate them from his mind altogether, so that soon no traces of what was previously "normal" could be left.

In fact, the only reason he knew that it was Christmas morning that day, was because of the absentminded glance that he cast on the calendar he hung on the wall. Each day he crossed off the little square that represented it, and went to bed as soundly as was possible, knowing that he survived another 24 hours' worth of hell.

That morning, he felt complete indifference as he observed the tiny writing under the number 25 in the box. How strange, he thought, to feel complete disregard to something that used to be so very meaningful to him. Searching his mind, the only trace of last Christmas that he could find was the faint glimpse of Virginia's eyes twinkling as she unraveled the diamond broach he took great care to place on top of a soft, velvety cushion. Shaped like a snowflake, each diamond was perfectly aligned with its neighbors, creating the illusion of flowing movement. There was no need for words at that moment, and he could almost feel Virginia's rich, chocolate-tinted lips connect with his. The electric shock that her kisses produced each time jolted through every square inch of his body, and he knew that if he was given the choice, he would choose to stay like that forever, never moving a muscle or blinking an eye. Drifting back into reality, Robert found that his fingers were gently moving through the air next to his face, as though caressing something that should have been there. Shocked at this, he let his hand fall immediately back down, his eyes wide. Did he really think that someone was going to be there in front of him? Had this one mere memory triggered such a falter in his previously perfectly composed nature? If this was true, he would have to be careful to refrain from digging in his head for more back flashes. Slapping himself across the face with as much might as his still slightly numb morning hands could, he stepped onto the icy tiled kitchen floor to make himself some breakfast.

He heard about people (when there was still anything to hear) who gathered up large collections of foods, raiding their local grocery stores and using the last of their strength to drag it into their homes. He found it hard to understand the reasoning behind such actions. Were they, unaware of the facts, simply getting ready to confine themselves into the comfort and false security of their homes? Against his better judgment, he guffawed. If one of the living dead came running at you, his sharp teeth bared and his white face so prominent against the night sky, you wouldn't scare him off with a stick of pepperoni. Feeling slightly giddy, Robert decided to give himself his morning buzz, and began to rummage in the cupboards. In the morning, he took care to make as little noise as was possible, letting his head rest from the never-ending concert that took place at night. He poured two cups of water into the coffeemaker, with two cups of raw coffee. He hesitated, then dumped a third cup into it. Better more than less, he decided as he turned the appliance on. His generator was fully operational, hidden in the most creative of hiding spots. He was able to sleep as soundly as the night after he soundproofed his house, knowing that even if they once again managed to get into the garage, the generator would be safe from harm. Rummaging in the fridge, Robert pulled out two items, the key components of his breakfast: a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies and a bottle of vodka. The vodka was new – he obtained it no more than a week ago after making a particularly lengthy ride north to the small town he'd been meaning to visit. But he couldn't remember a time when things seemed to be going so well for him, that he'd actually found the free time to go. As well as a fair share of numerous other foreign drinks, he obtained whole wheat bread, bananas, and aftershave. That day seemed to be like – dare he say it? – like heaven. He tried to avoid making any comparison of where he was to the holy white place. It was like standing in a pot of boiling hot oil with your skin peeling off and your flesh set to white hot flames, and thinking, "Yup, this must be what love feels like." But Robert did not linger on the thought, as he eyed the three priceless items he gained. The wheat bread tasted like sugar after months of dry, white bread. It used to be that toasting his bread was a treat, now he had variety. And the bananas…oh God! How long had it been since he had a banana? When he took that first bite, his taste buds went crazy, trying to savor the juicy flavor as long as possible. Robert thought of the three remaining bananas that he kept wrapped up in layers of plastic bags in the refrigerator. He was doing whatever he could to make them last as long as possible, and to keep them from rotting. Trying to prolong heaven, he thought with a melancholy grin. And the aftershave. It was a pointless thing, indeed. Not as useful as shaving cream, and definitely not as useful as new razors. He couldn't put it on and go outside, trying to pass off as a courteous, neat, mannerly gentleman. But it was a new scent. He couldn't quite place a name to it, but it was so very different from the everyday smells he was used to: coffee, alcohol, garlic, and rotting flesh. He took the time to spray the entire house with it once, intoxicating himself in its aroma.

"Enjoy," he had said quietly to himself, as he sprayed the outside of his front porch generously. Gives them something different to obsess over.

But thinking of new razors did lower Robert's seemingly cheerful mood that morning, as he found himself slitting his chin once more, and watching the bright red blood spill over, dripping onto the sink. He was on his last razor, which was already dulled beyond anything. He didn't know why he still used it, for instead of getting rid of unwanted facial hair, it made him look less human with each cut. Maybe he was trying to keep up the human routine of morning hygiene with this process, no matter how bloody it got. He grinned at the irony of the whole thing: the more he tried to make himself stay human, the more he looked like one of _them._

Robert's breakfast was very well thought out, and perfectly distributed. When the coffee was done, he poured it into his thermos, just enough so that half of it would be full. Then, to even it out, he added an equal amount of vodka (or whatever alcohol he had around) to it. He never swished the two around, preferring to let them mix as they pleased. If he was in great need of the morning buzz, he was able to finish the entire concoction in three gulps. The first would be pure alcohol, which made his eyes peel open and become alert to his surroundings. The second would be a mixture of the two, which made his head feel a little less light, made his blood circulate faster. The last would be pure coffee, and that was his favorite part. After the slightly bitter taste of alcohol, he was able to sober down with the now sweet-tinted flavor of coffee. Then he inhaled seven of the thirty cookies that he took time to make a few days ago, and felt ready to get on with his day.

Such a routine never bored him, and his body did not crave diversity. But when, on the first morning after that faithful trip, he decided to eat a banana for breakfast instead of the cookies, it felt like something clicked into place in his brain. He suddenly felt more refreshed and alert than he had in months. He took care of _ninety_ of them that day.

There was no time to enjoy life, as Robert glanced at his watch. He had gotten himself into the habit of re-setting it every day, so that it would be right down to the last second. Time was too precious now to waste, he thought, and in his hurry, almost knocked over a chair, as he headed back to his room. Glancing outside, he took note that the sun was only partially risen, and remembered that in winter, there would always be more dark than light.

He used to love winter. It was his favorite holiday, and Virginia never understood what it was about snow that he found so appealing. Robert didn't know either, but at that point, it didn't seem necessary to have answers. He liked the way the snow sparkled in the occasional sun, and how, sometimes it would fall from the sky so slowly, he could trace the path of a single snowflake for over a minute, before it landed in a white mass of its colleagues. He loved the feeling of the icy cold wind on his skin, taking a moment to inhale deeply each time, craving the wild fresh air.

He couldn't say that he detested winter with a passion, but it was certainly very inconvenient for him. It limited the amount of time he could stay out of his domain, and limited the amount of work he could get done. But being inside his house wasn't as bad as it was before, and he once more praised himself mentally for soundproofing the walls. It was so much nicer to be able to sit in his home, sipping on his nightly mixture of drinks (which varied from a cup of warm milk to a cup of warm sake), without the necessity of hearing them outside.

He shuddered at the thought of all those sounds – sounds that his brain seemed unwilling to forget. The hoarse deeps growls from the men that wanted to make Robert one of them. The wild weeping and moaning of the women, who begged for sexual intercourse – and his flesh. The less dominant, but no more agonizing screams of the children, who sounded more like animals than anything. Robert remembered the sound of their fingernails, scraping against the sides of his house. The bangs of their fists against his windows, attempting to break them. And then there was the occasional call of, "Neville! Come out, Neville!" from individuals such as Ben Cortman.

He stepped into a spot on the floor that was not shadowed by otherwise things, and felt warm under his feet. He closed his eyes and looked outside, letting the sun heat him. "Fool!" something inside of him screamed, and kicked him in the gut. "How dare you feel this good when the world around you is dying?!" But Robert already took the blame for his recently more active feelings. Pleasantness, calmness, relaxation – they were all becoming more increasingly common lately. He wasn't not sure why. After all, it was not as though a miracle happened, and there were suddenly _less_ of them. No, their numbers stood still, perhaps even rising at times. So why did he feel such optimism? He didn't know, and ignored the voice in his head. There was a time when he felt utterly disgusted with himself for feeling like this. He should be crying. He should be in a state of immense depression, on the verge of suicide. The thought being the last man on earth ought to have destroyed any will to continue this seemingly pointless life. And yet here he was, standing in his house, _sunbathing._ Yes, there was a time when he would have slapped himself silly for it. But he found that these feelings were occurring far too often, and decided to accept the title of the world's greatest sinner and move on.

It was not as though this…"situation" had caused him to be any more religious, and rely on faith for support. Quite the contrary, Robert found that he was becoming more and more of an atheist than ever. Looking up to the sky, he was not contacting some spiritual and mighty being – he was looking up to see something that was not screwed up completely and utterly.

When his watch beeped, he knew it was time. He went into the bedroom and grabbed his bag of steaks as usual, preparing to start the day off a little earlier than before, in hopes of accomplishing more in his limited time. He glanced in the mirror before heading out into the garage, and did so without a purpose. His voice, however, seemed to think it was in vain. "Look at you," it said bitterly, and Robert thought he could taste it's irritation in his own throat. "You look like hell. You carry around a bag of steaks and reek of garlic, coffee, and poison. Your face is cut and you resemble a monster more than a human being. Are you happy now? Because that is what your reflection is like. Now stop looking in the goddamn mirror and get to work!" Robert greatly wanted to shut the voice up, but this was an impossible feat to accomplish, for part of him enjoyed hearing it, no matter how angry. It was almost like having company.

He made his way out to the garage, and locked the door behind him securely.

He got ready to load himself into his station wagon, and drive off to rid the world of impurities.

He turned around.

And he froze.

"Goddamn," he whispered.

The garage door was shut, as properly as he remembered closing it last night.

The door from the garage to the outside world was also closed, and he noticed the chain lock properly attached, as it should have been.

He snuck a peek at the generator, which was emitting a smooth vibrating noise, and looked untouched since he last messed with it.

The light in the garage was also turned on, as he remembered leaving it. Everything seemed to be in perfect order, except for one thing. The thing that caused a ripple in Robert's pattern of breaths.

His car was gone.

It is a perfectly normal thing to scream when one is in a state of surprise and shock, but only in normal circumstances. And after Robert did so, in the lowest of monotone voices, he realized that that was probably not the smartest thing to do.

He raced back to the door, fumbled with the keys and dropped them with his trembling hands, and flew back into the house, slamming the door shut. He made his way across the house to his bedroom and glanced out the window. Then the living room windows. Then the kitchen windows. And then out every other window in the house. It was purely for stress relief, because Robert's subconscious knew that he would never leave his car out of the garage for the night. But perhaps he longed to see some trace of it left, if they got to it. A ripped piece of tire, or part of the exhaust engine. But there was nothing to suggest that the car had ever left the garage. Robert ran back to the garage to see. Then again. And then again. Eventually it became clear that no matter how many times he would look, the car would not reappear.

He sat down in a chair, his hands covering his stony face. "Goddamn," he whispered again. It seemed impossible. The memory was fresh in his mind – he _clearly_ remembered parking the car in the garage last night. He closed the garage door. He made sure that the other door was locked. He checked up on the generator, making sure that it was okay. He went into the house, checking that the door was locked again. He made himself dinner, which included a turkey sandwich, a piece of cold pizza, and a small glass of heroin. He read from his book, _Great Expectations_, turned off all the lights, making sure the garage one was on, double pulled on all the windows, making sure they were securely latched, with a slightly uneasy mind, retired for the night. Nothing in this list seemed out of the ordinary, and Robert scratched his head, puzzled. Then he got out his mind.

There wasn't much he could do without his car, but he wasn't going to stay cooped up in the house all day long, wondering where it might have gone. He didn't think that _they_ were capable to figure out a way into the garage, start the car, open the garage door, _drive_ out of the garage, and close the door again. Their animal instinct would not physically allow them to perform such tasks.

But if it wasn't them, then there could only be one other possibility, which Robert stubbornly refused to consider. He would not, could not afford to get his hopes up, only to be severely let down later. Though it seemed like the only possible alternative, Robert did not allow himself to linger on it. Not now. Now, he would have to find ways to maneuver around his tasks without his car.

Of course, there was plenty of work to be done locally. He could clean up the streets a little bit, or take the time to scrape out the ashes from the fire pit and bury them. No, that particular task would have to wait. He'd already managed to kill at least an hour of his time through pointless actions, and that task would require a minimum of five hours to complete. He might even have to wait until spring, if he kept up this sort of squandering behavior. But winter always tended to do that to him – make his mind process thoughts slower, taking the time to smell the roses.

He _could_ go through all of the houses once more, just to see what he may have missed. And in doing so, he could dispose of a few of them. That seemed like a good enough plan for now, and Robert settled on it. He grabbed his bag of steaks, his keys, and stuffed a couple garlic cloves into his pocket. Why not? With this, he exited his house through the front door – something he hadn't done in what seemed like forever, and began to walk down the street, with the lingering though that the last man on earth was not alone on his mind.

**And there you go, the first chapter. **

**I wrote this in like, one hour at midnight, so I apologize if it sucks. **

**If it turns out that people like it, I'll do another one. But if I get no reviews and no hits or anything, I don't think I'll bother. Because this was kind of a one-time inspiration thing, but I'm willing to continue with it if you think it's worth it.**

**So, please review and tell me what you think!**


	2. Breathtaking, Heartpounding

**Yes, I did decide to continue with this fanfic, mostly because I really had nothing better to do over the weekend. I was a little disappointed that I didn't get any reviews. I mean, the first chapter wasn't **_**that **_**bad, was it? And if it was, would it kill people to take a few seconds out of their life to tell me that? Anyways, here's Chapter 2. I have thought out something of a plot, so we'll see how it goes, I suppose. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own **I Am Legend**. The characters and setting all belong to Richard Matheson. I do however, own the plot.**

**Robert Neville POV**

It was, in truth, one of the most shocking days he'd ever spent doing his "job."

He had decided to go through the local houses again, to check for anything useful that he could have missed on his previous rounds. And he planned to dispose of some of the living dead. It wasn't the most exciting plan in the world, but in time it developed into something that left him breathless.

Robert decided to first make a round to the houses on the blocks that boxed his own in. Doing the math in his head, he figured that would be about thirty houses, which was a good start to the day. It was already quite far into the sunrise, and not wanting to waste any precious time, he began his job immediately.

He couldn't remember to whom the first house he entered used to belong to, but he knew he'd taken care of them a long time ago. Of course, that didn't mean that the building was unoccupied. They often crawled into random houses or otherwise darker places during the day, to protect themselves from the sunlight – one of the many mysteries that he had so far been unable to solve. He decided to humor himself, and knocked on the front door thrice, and stood there for several seconds, as though expecting an answer. This was a pretty sick thing to do in his situation, and the voice inside his head didn't miss the opportunity to tell him that. Robert debated over whether or not to smack himself silly until the voice went away, but decided against it. It was crucial for him to try to avoid these kinds of distractions. So without further a due, he twisted the knob and entered the seemingly peaceful house. When he stepped inside, he had to walk through a rather long hallway before he was in what was probably the living room. It never ceased to amaze Robert how exceptionally well-preserved everything was. The books on the shelves looked untouched, the dishes in the kitchen were whole and clean, the windows, though a little dusty, were also intact and allowed for rays of sunlight to shine inside, warming the carpets. If he didn't know better, Robert would say that the residents of this house had simply left on vacation, or were even in their beds, soundly sleeping in. But he knew better, and proceeded with his job.

There was nothing in the cupboards that could serve as some help to him. He had all the dishes he could possibly need, and he couldn't care less about the large amount of lemon spray that was stashed under the sink. He _did_, however, place several bars of unopened soap into his bag, as well as a nice container for water, which would be very convenient to keep in his car, which he then remembered he no longer had. Thinking of this turned his smile upside down, and he continued to rummage through the house with a facial expression that he thought was melancholy, but might have been a little constipated as well.

To Robert's disappointment, but not surprise, all of the food that remained in the house was either rotten, spoiled, hardened, or curled. Even the saltine crackers, which were supposed to be one of the less perishable food items, were hard and bitter. Robert felt his stomach turned as he forced one down, and with a look of disgust, threw the box to the ground, taking great care to step on it with his boot. He heard a satisfying crunch as the crackers were crushed into smithereens, and continued his search. When he was done with the ground and second floors of the house, he was also able to add a big fat book of Sudoku puzzles to his relatively small pile of finds. He wondered how he could have missed such a valuable thing on his first visit to this house. It was, after all, in his opinion, the best way to spend any possible free time that he may have. And then it was time to finish with the house – to go to the basement. Sometimes he got lucky, and the house he would visit wouldn't have a basement. But such a thing was rare, and Robert knew that this particular house would not be one of those elite. Funny, he ought to be used to the feeling of knowing what he would probably find down there, but nonetheless, he found his stomach turning into a knot as he began to climb down the unusually wooden stairs, flashlight in hand. It was quiet down there, but unlike the upstairs, it felt cold and moist in the basement. Robert smelled the all too-familiar smell of blood, which bolded his suspicions. When he first caught scent of the blood, it was like he was eating iron. The strong smell used to make his entire body stiffen and shudder with its unpleasantness. Now, he could barely distinguish between this smell and the smell of normality, whatever that was.

The basement was small, and because he'd been there before, Robert could remember where most of the crevices and gapes were. It was unusually quiet for a deceiving second. And then he heard something. He recognized this sound at once, and his body froze. He was in, what he thought, the most terrifying moment of suspense he'd ever had the misfortune to take part in. He stood, bright flashlight in one hand, in the middle of one of the smallest basements he'd ever set foot in. Damn architects. But he didn't linger on the thought, much as he wanted to escape the fearful reality. He glanced at the door on top of the short stairs, only feet away, and imagined himself prying it open with his bare hands, not that such a thing would be necessary. There was dead silence around him, except for the noise that made his heart skip every other beat. The breathing.

He was so close to it that he could probably reach out a hand and touch it. At first, he was too frightened to listen much, and felt his body shake at the awful noise. But when he felt himself regain a little composure, he listened. And what he heard brought his entire thought process to a total standstill. Because what he heard sounded so unnaturally _human_.

It truly was, just like being in the same room with another human. As he listened even closer, the breathing was corrupted in some places, and sounded frightened rather than malicious. It never before occurred to Robert that they could be afraid, until now, and the more he thought about it, the more he understood. Of course. It wasn't like they _wanted_ to kill other humans for their flesh. It wasn't like they _asked_ for this to happen to them. And what is more, they probably had fears just like any other creature. Robert froze again, this time because the reality of his own thoughts was so strong. That's right – they were just another type of creature. There were two creatures in this basement now. One living, and one heavily mutated to something almost unrecognizable. Almost.

Robert felt a sick urge to touch it, and could feel his arm wanting to reach out. But he resisted. He couldn't let these sick, malevolent thoughts get the better of him. But he couldn't stop himself from speaking out loud.

"Who were you?" he said softly, perhaps with more kindness than was necessary. Of course, he didn't get an answer back. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." This was an outright lie. Robert knew perfectly well that he would pull this creature out of the basement and into the sunlight. He would drive a stake through its heart, and then dump its body into the fire pit. He knew these things well, yet he continued to talk. The voice inside of his head was screaming at him to regain some dignity and to shut the fuck up, but Robert was ignoring it. He would do what instinct told him to, for now. "My name is Robert. Robert Neville. I'm guessing at some point you had a name as well." He took a deep breath and brought the light of the flashlight to the corner where the breathing was heaviest. An earsplitting shriek followed, and Robert forced himself to look.

The creature was there, curled up in a tight ball, staring at Robert with the deer-in-the-headlights look. Robert immediately noticed that it was shaking horribly, trying to look at anything but the light. From somewhere in its body, high-pitched and all the same hoarse growls were being emitted. He wasn't sure if they were voluntary or not, but he was too much in shock to investigate much further at that point. His body seemed to be frozen in the spot, and that wasn't a smart thing to have happen. Against the will of his joints, he took a step forward and peered closer at the thing in the corner.

What he saw made him stop breathing.

It was certainly there, and it was certainly one of them. That was unquestionable and undeniable. And it wasn't until he was just a mere foot away that he noticed what caused him to swallow hard and wish that he had brought his rope with him.

Every single member of the living dead that he had so far seen was the same. Their bodies were deformed and ugly, with raw flesh hanging from different parts of the body, and folds of skin sometimes flying freely, hanging by a loose strand. Their eyes would be dull and lifeless, and when he looked in them, it felt like staring into a deep, dark pool of black matter. He often found it hard to look away after having caught glance of those frightening and malicious eyes, as though he was being sucked in.

This time was different.

Robert could tell that it was one of them because of the face. It looked charred and wrinkled in places, and in the light he cast upon it, it had a certain wet look to it. That in itself was one, sure-fire way of distinguishing between the living dead and the living.

This time was very different.

When he looked into the eyes, Robert was shocked beyond words to discover that they were not entirely black – another way of knowing the difference between the two species. No, when he approached the frightened creature, his heart was going crazy, because in them he saw something he'd _never_ seen in one of their eyes – color. It was not crystal clear – far from it, conversely. The shade of ivory was extremely dull, and had he not been standing just feet away, he might not have noticed it at all. But he was, and he did, and he could not believe it. The pupil was large, bigger than half of the entire eye. Robert already knew that the black that covered their eyes was not a discoloration due to their mutation, but only an increased size of the pupils, which in turn grew so large that they covered the eyeballs whole. But around the pupils of these eyes was a relatively thin, but undeniable line of color. Ivory, to be precise. Such a detail was so shocking that Robert was forgetting to breathe.

But that wasn't the only difference.

_Not even close._

It was sometimes possible for Robert to distinguish between the males and the females in ways other than the way they behaved and sounded, and such an ability was helpful, though not necessary in the daylight. Some of them still had hair on their head, destroyed though it may be. The rare female might have gray hair that looked burned, horribly damaged, and incredibly dry. The occasional male might have a few inches' worth of the same dead cells on his dome. But as previously stated, such a find was rare. If the virus was in the body for an incredibly long period of time, or was stronger than usual, the hair would simply fall off completely, and this occurred more often than not. Henceforth, in the daylight, he often found it impossible to tell the gender of a bald figure, not that he ever had the need of doing so.

So it was with another jolt of shock that he observed the creature's head, his eyes bulging out at what he found.

There was hair, and it reached down to a little past the ears, so Robert presumed that his companion was most likely male. But what petrified him to the bone was the immense _health_ of this hair. There was a bright honey-golden tint to it, with some lines and streaks of brown, perfectly proportioned amidst the lighter shades. This color looked incredibly luscious and rich with moisture, much like the impossibly to get hair one might see in shampoo commercials. It fell down straight, and there were lengthy bangs that reached past the creature's eyes. Staring into it, Robert felt himself sway slightly on the spot, lost in impossible thoughts.

And then there was that third thing.

It was more shocking than the rest, and proved to be the single, most penetrating thing he had ever seen since his new life began.

He shined the light on its torso, arms, and legs. He was speechless.

Because if he didn't know better, he would say they were _human._

Unlike the face and neck, the rest of the creature's body looked completely normal. There was not a single scar, not a single wrinkle, not a single wet spot that would hint at a mutation. Robert could see small, light hairs covering the bare chest and body.

It wore knee-length shorts that looked in an exceptional condition, despite the spots and specks of occasional dirt. _Clothing._

As much as Robert tried not to think the thought, it charged him like a stampede of buffalo. And in the end, he was forced to say it to himself, inwardly.

Gathering all of what he had seen, there was only one conclusion that he could come to.

The mutation was not yet complete.

The victim couldn't have been bitten more than a few hours ago.

And the last one was easiest for Robert to comprehend, but hardest for him to think.

The being that sat in front of him curled up into a tight ball, was still human.

But surely, Robert thought after a long five minutes of meditation without moving from the same spot, this could not be so. He had been broadcasting from his radio station for months now. It was becoming clear that there were no other humans within the long, sad radius of Manhattan. He had come face-to-face with that fact a long time ago, but he continued to broadcast nonetheless, for reasons unknown. Surely, had there been another human around, he would have known about it. They would have given him some sort of sign.

And then he stopped his train of thought altogether.

Because he _had_ been given a sign. Well, sort of.

Had he not discovered just that morning that his car was gone? Whoever had taken it had to have had the capacity to think, comprehend, plan, and _drive._ And how many zombies did he know who were capable of all those things?

The thought of company _had_ run through his mind earlier, but it was so much easier to shove it away then than it was at that very moment. Swallowing hard, he dared himself to think the unthinkable. Was it possible that there were more humans in Manhattan? And, he thought this as though electrocuted, could there be a possible way to save the man in front of him?

He could feel his blood circulating around his body ten times the normal speed. But he knew he couldn't stand there forever. While the impact of the shock from his discovery was great, he had been through worse ordeals in his unfortunate life. And he had recovered to an acceptable level. Given these facts, he hoped that he could do it again, as he stared into the man's colored eyes with a mixture of awe and fascination, as well as panic and anxiety.

Robert took a small step forward. He was already much too close to the man than he had ever planned to be, and this movement shortened the already small distance between them. The slightest shake of his body would cause physical contact between the two. Slowly, he extended his arm and placed it on the man's forehead. He was surprised at how warm it felt, contrary to the usual cold and clammy feel. But then again, this case was everything but ordinary. The moment he touched the man, however, he whimpered and tried to make himself even smaller. Robert took note of his dangerously lean shape. Who knew what this man had endured? Maybe he was even coming to find Robert, to see if the broadcasts were for real… But Robert was not going to allow himself to get lost in such pleasant possibilities and concentrated at the work he had cut out for him.

"Can you speak?" he said with the most gentle voice he was able to use at the moment. Had he not just had an internal seizure, he might have been able to speak with more clarity, but given the circumstances, that was not possible. He waited stupidly for an answer but didn't receive one. In fact, as he spoke, the man seemed to attempt to shrink away from him even more. "My name is Robert Neville." He'd said this previously, but with the knowledge he'd gained, these words seemed to have newfound meaning. "I can see that you are not fully one of them yet. You were attacked sometime this morning, am I correct?" His question received nothing but silence, but that was expected. "You have to trust me when I say that I am your ally, not your enemy. I am a fully unchanged human being who has not yet been affected by the virus. And I am going to do whatever I can to help you. Please believe me." He felt a kind of warmth spread throughout his body as he noticed that the man stopped trying to look away, and met his gaze. The expression on his face seemed to be slightly less terrified, and slightly more curious. "That's right," Robert said soothingly. It was crucial that he calmed the man down before making any sudden movements. If he went into shock, that could stimulate the virus to act even faster, and Robert might lose him. "Please listen to what I am saying, even if you cannot respond. I am going to try and help you, and I in no way have any intention of hurting you. I'm going to do my best to protect you from what may or may not happen. I have quite a bit of experience here, having survived this long." He paused for a moment, considering his next move. "Now, I'm going to come closer, and pick you up. I'm going to take you back to my house, where you will be safe. And when we get there, I'm going to help you. Okay?" He observed the man's face for any sort of sign, and was wholly thrilled when he noticed that the man's head moved up and down twice. If fate was merciful, this could mean that the man could understand him to a certain degree. He inhaled deeply and reached both of his hands out, and slid them under the man's back. He felt how stiff his entire body had gone as he picked him up, but was relieved to see that the man did not put up a struggle of any sort. His face carried a slightly unpleasant look, but other than that he seemed okay. It was of no hardship for Robert to pick him up – the man was seriously underweight. He could see where his rib cage protruded from his chest and swallowed. Freeing one of his hands and holding the man with the other (he'd gotten extremely strong during the last few months doing his job), and ripped a generous hunk of cloth from his own shirt. "I'm going to wrap something around your eyes right now," he said softly and replaced his other arm to hold the man more sturdy. "That way when we go outside, the sunlight won't hurt you." He wasn't so sure about that, but was going on more of an educated guess. True, the transformation had only just begun, so the sunlight may have absolutely no effect on the man. And yet when he shone the flashlight in his eyes, he backed away from it, hissing. Perhaps it was just from shock? Robert liked to think so. He was most pleased when the man nodded slightly again, and took that as permission. As gently as he could, he wrapped the piece of cloth delicately around his eyes, tying it on the back, careful not to make it too tight or too loose. "We're going to go outside now, and then I'm going to take you back to my house, where you'll be safe. Is this okay?" He waited for him to nod again before moving. Careful not to make the man uncomfortable in any way, he began to make his way up the stairs, and into the abandoned house. It felt like forever since he was last in there, but it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes.

The voice inside his head was unusually silent, and Robert wondered if it was in the same state of paralysis as he was. But whatever its reasoning behind the obscure quiet was, it was nice to be able to go through life without someone in your head constantly shouting obscenities at you, even if that time was limited, as he was sure it was. As he neared the front door, he grabbed his bag containing the bars of soap, book of Sudoku puzzles, and container for water with a couple of fingers, and stepped outside. He felt the man shake for a moment as sunlight beamed down on them, but he seemed to be perfectly fine. Enlightened by this find, Robert felt like skipping back to his house, even though he knew that he would never do that. Not whilst in his arms lay the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in a long time – a fellow human being.

Once he'd make his way back into the house, he wouldn't leave it for the rest of the day. He'd miss a day's worth of work, but that didn't seem quite as important anymore. If there was any way at all that he could help this man, to stop the virus from taking over in the first place - that would be his number one priority. As he looked down, he noticed that the man was sleeping. Good, Robert thought. He needed his rest if he was going to try to fight this curse off of himself, with Robert's help, of course.

When he was back in his own neighborhood, he unlocked the garage door quietly, careful not to awaken the man. The car was still gone, and where it used to take up room in the garage, there was now nothing but lonely and empty space. This didn't get his spirits down too much, however, for he was still in ecstasy over what had just happened. Locking the door behind him, he entered the house, and set the man down slowly onto his own bed. He closed the blinds on the windows, pulled the curtains over, and removed the piece of cloth around the man's eyes. Sure enough, they were closed, and in the silence, Robert could hear him breathing. It was a most calming sound that picked up the beat of his own heart. He dug in the closet until he found a fuzzy warm blanket, and covered the man with it. There was such tenderness in his eyes that may as well have been tucking in his own child for the night. Because it was broad daylight, the room was still relatively bright. Robert glanced at the clock, which read a perfect three in the afternoon. It was later than he thought, but not by much.

He stayed in his house for the rest of the day. He ate his meals and snacks at the man's bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath that he took, making sure that they were even. He did a couple of Sudoku puzzles in his new book.

That night, he didn't have a single drink of alcohol.

That night, he didn't have a single drink of coffee.

That night, he didn't leave the chair next to his bed for more than a few minutes.

That night, he was happier than he could ever remember being.

**I seem to have some sort of habit of writing into the wee hours of the night, and this was certainly no exception. :o**

**I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I suppose that's why I'm not getting any reviews on this. But I'll tell you one thing – I'm certainly having a great time working on this! It started out to be just an experiment, and I personally think that it's a success.**

**As stated in the previous author's note, I do have a plot created now, so hopefully I can pull together something worth reading. :D**

**Also, I did most of this chapter while listening to the song "**_My Name is Robert Neville_**" from the I Am Legend soundtrack. The song is by James Newton Howard. Great music, and very inspirational!**

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


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